Luck still rode with them; the raft was undamaged. Vardoon gusted his relief as he saw the ring of shattered stone blotched with shining copper; debris torn from the hill above the ledge which had remained intact at the cost of the metal.

"It's our day, Earl. Nothing can go wrong now. Let's get at it!"

Together they rode up the slope of the hill, Dumarest handling the controls, frowning at the poor response. The spot where the vrek had voided her eggs was high, seamed with cracks too narrow to provide safe holds. A row of pitons hammered into the wall above provided anchors for suspended ropes, more holding the raft close to the rock. An uneasy union with the craft lifting and dropping as the compensators overreacted.

"No point in eating," said Vardoon. "If we vomit it'll be a waste of good food." He studied the wall from his seat in the raft. "How do we handle it? From the inside out or from the edges in?"

"Inside out," said Dumarest. "We don't know just where the edges are."

"And, inside, we're certain of a good crop." Vardoon, reached for one of the ropes. "I'll take the upper region while you take the lower. Keep at it, Earl-and don't miss any."

They were thick in the cracks and on the rock itself. Suspended from a rope, Dumarest inched his way over the sheer wall of stone, sweating, cramped in the hampering confines of his suit. Each egg had to be carefully pried free with the tip of his knife and placed in the pouch at his waist. Small, little larger than a pea, the yoke forming the actual pearl. When stripped of its outer membrane the inner skin would harden and contract to form a golden sphere.

Potential life, clinging to the sun-warmed stone, stimulated by electronic discharges to grow and take shape and hatch from the egg. Larvae of some kind which would follow the metamorphoses leading to the creation of fully grown adult vreks. How many would survive?

Few, he knew, but that was the way of nature; to be wastefully liberal with life-seed. As a human male gushed millions of spermatozoa at ejaculation to fertilize a single egg.

Had these been fertilized?

Dumarest paused, looking up to where Vardoon had moved a little to one side. His helmet was open and his hands worked with mechanical precision as he freed eggs to thrust into his pouch.

"Hart!"

"What is it?" Vardoon didn't look down. "If you're worried about my helmet being open, forget it. The air's clean."

Sweet, free of chemical odors and metallic taints, the wind blew gently from the south. Dumarest opened his own helmet and felt the sweat dry on his face.

"Hart, what happens if these aren't stripped?"

"The eggs? They'd hatch, I guess. Why?" He ceased work to answer his own question. "There's no point in thinking of breeding them, Earl. It's been tried. You need special conditions-hell, we're wasting time!"

"One more thing; how do you tell if they're fertile?"

"You can't." Vardoon scrabbled a boot on the stone as he swung to a new position. "But why worry about it? Come on, Earl, quit wasting time!"

When the sun was halfway to zenith Dumarest called a halt, insisting the other man join him in the raft for rest and water. Vardoon drank greedily, face mottled, streaked with sweat.

"A dream," he said as he lowered the canteen. "A fortune lying right before our very eyes. How the hell can you just sit here, Earl?"

"How many eggs did you ruin in the past fifteen minutes?"

"What?" Vardoon scowled, then shrugged. "Too many, but does it matter? There're plenty more."

"And if you get careless, slip and fall, what then?" Dumarest leaned back against the side of the raft. Its motion was like that of a ship at sea. "It's a long way to the bottom but maybe the eggs will cushion the impact."

"I get it." Vardoon rubbed his chin, squinted up at the sky. "Move slower, take things easier-that it?"

"Pace yourself," said Dumarest. "We've a lot of rock to cover before noon."

"Noon?"

"That's right."

"You thinking of leaving at noon? No way, Earl. Hell, man, we stay until the rock is stripped clean."

Vardoon's decision but if he stayed he would be alone. Dumarest said, "Let's not argue about it. Want to sponge down in the tent?"

"No, but I'm getting out of this damned suit!" Vardoon looked at the hand Dumarest clamped on his arm. "Earl?"

"Keep the suit on."

"But-"

"Keep it on!" snapped Dumarest. "If you want to act the fool then do it when I'm not around. What if the wind should change? A freak storm blow up?" His anger was genuine, relayed by his eyes, the tone of his voice. "If you want to end our partnership just say the word. If not do as I say."

A small battle and a victory won as Vardoon swung himself back to work. But there would be another and Dumarest took care he would win it. Before leaving the raft he checked one of the guns, slinging it over a shoulder. The other, Vardoon's, remained in the raft.

An hour before noon the wind changed, shifting to blow strongly from the north, carrying with it a harsh acridity which seared nostrils and doubled Vardoon in a fit of coughing. Twisting on his rope, he sealed his helmet, fed clean air from the tanks to flush out the poison. With streaming eyes he looked at Dumarest working to the right and below. At the peaks to the north. At something which moved in a blur of shimmering wings.

"Earl!"

Dumarest spun, bending his knees and ramming the soles of his boots against the rock. A stance which gave him enough stability to move his arms, to lift the gun in an instinctive reaction. The muzzle followed the darting shape.

A vrek-but a male.

A thing as beautiful as its mate but thicker, smaller, spined like a mythical dragon and keening like a nail drawn over slate. The sound of the wind thrumming past its wings, the protrusions. The sound of energy being generated for an obvious purpose.

"Down!" Dumarest tore at his own fastenings, freed them, dropped toward the raft. "Hart, damn you! Down!"

He came like a rag doll, spinning, bumping, landing heavily, to snatch up the gun and lift it toward the vrek.

"No!" Dumarest swung his hand at the weapon. "No, you fool!"

Fog engulfed them, a mist of swirling, darting particles suddenly illuminated by the snarling roar of the gun as Vardoon fired blindly into the milky cloud, composed of countless fragments of life; spawn vented by the male vrek to fertilize the deposited eggs. Gunfire returned by lightning.

The cloud split in a blue-green flash which threw Dumarest to one side, nerves jarred, muscles knotted. Another and he saw Vardoon standing wreathed in fire, coruscations which traced the metallic protection of his suit and limned the helmet spike with a scintillant halo. The gun glowed red, smoking as it fell to the deck. Dumarest snatched it up, threw it over the side, turned to slash at the holding ropes and, as they parted, sprang to the controls.

A moment and the raft was rising up through the settling cloud and into the clear sky, which was cut by the shimmer of the vrek now far distant, by the dark flecks of nearing rafts.

Chapter Eight

Vardoon groaned, coughed, groaned again. His eyes, bleared, looked at Dumarest through the opened helmet. As he moved to sit upright he winced.

"You were hit," said Dumarest, anticipating the question. "A bolt from the vrek. I warned you not to fire."

"I tried to get it first," Vardoon grunted as he leaned back against the side of the raft. "I remember the flash but that's about all. I guess the suit saved me."

"It did."

"More proof that you're worth listening to." Vardoon coughed again; smoke from burned insulation had irritated his lungs. "Has it gone?"

"The vrek? Yes."

"So let's get back to work." Vardoon reared, swayed and clutched at Dumarest's shoulder to steady himself. His voice rose as he failed to see the hill. "What's happening? Where the hell are we?"